


A Beautiful Disaster

by sirtemple



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Cats, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Smooching, im weak, please brush your teeth, rated teen for one swear word idk, so much christmas fluff, sorry i couldnt avoid a little e/R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 23:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3359819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirtemple/pseuds/sirtemple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Decorating a Christmas tree in Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta's household is always, understandably, a hazard and this year is no different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beautiful Disaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [legendofthefireemblem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendofthefireemblem/gifts).



> sorry im such a shit and didn't finish this anywhere near resembling on-time.

Christmas was always a disaster in their household. Really, it was a disaster for all the Amis. Enjolras would rant about commercialization, Combeferre and Feuilly would work, Jehan and Courfeyrac would give everyone presents a day late (Stupid Amazon, Courf would declare dramatically while Jehan would wave their hands somewhat in agreement in the background) and Grantaire and Bahorel would drink, revel, and get into bar fights, not necessarily in that order. But, in Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta’s home, Christmas was a special brand of disaster.

The morning of Christmas Eve was filled with the smell of gingerbread, the sight of snow falling gently against the window, and the sound of Joly sniffling.

“Poor Joly, a cold for Christmas,” Musichetta cooed mournfully, stroking his hair. Bossuet set down a mug of hot tea in front of him and pushed the box of tissues on the coffee table closer.

“Guys, I’ll be fide, probise.” Joly plucked a tissue from the box and blew his nose noisily. “See, much better,” he sighed, the frowned. He sniffed the tissue and turned to his partners. “This smells like…evergreen?”

Bossuet plopped onto the couch next to Joly and made to fling his feet on the table before Musichetta smacked them down, fiercely indicating the full mug of boiling tea right where his feet would have landed. Bossuet sheepishly planted his feet back on the floor.

“We may have stuck one of those pine tree air fresheners in the box.” Musichetta waved a hand in the air. “For the extra oom-pah of holiday spirit.”

Joly held the tissue to his red nose again. “That’s so wonderful,” he said in awe.

Bossuet pushed the mug into Joly’s hands and Joly was surrounded again by more scents: jasmine, vanilla, mint…he closed his eyes and inhaled as he took a sip, letting the flavors wash over his tongue and the temperature soothe his throat.

“Hopefully it’s just allergies coming back.” Bossuet glared at the likely culprit who took that moment to leap onto the back of the couch and wind her way around Bossuet’s shoulders. Bossuet tried valiantly to maintain his scowl but it melted when the orange tabby cat butted her head against his cheek. She then leapt into Joly’s lap and curled up, purring.

Joly blew his nose again. “AH, Souris you’ll be the death of me,” he sighed but ran his hand through Souris’s fur anyways.

Musichetta grabbed both her boys around the shoulders and hugged them fiercely. “Now that Jolllly is all settled and cozy, time for Bossuet and I to trim the tree!”

Joly’s eyes widened and he choked on a sip of tea. “But I-I love trimming the tree!” He gave both of them his best puppy dog eyes.

“You can’t get up now, you’ll wake poor Souris up.” Bossuet ruffled Joly’s hair and kissed him on the cheek. “You can hand us the ornaments while you rest.”

Joly grumbled but continued to stroke Souris and sip tea. Bossuet hopped up from the couch and dragged a box of ornaments onto the couch as his replacement.

For the next half hour, Musichetta and Bossuet draped a string of lights procured from a closet up and around the fresh pine tree, tucking and twining the tiny bulbs beneath boughs and needles as they went. Joly helped from his seat on the couch by drinking tea and offering innocent pointers that were met with glares and hand waves from his partners. Bossuet managed to get tangled in the home stretch of lights which caused more than a few moments of panic when it seemed he was seconds away from being electrocuted. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the lights made it safely on the tree. Joly excitedly made to stand up to hang ornaments, against Bossuet and Musichetta’s orders, but Souris dug her claws into his thigh in reprimand. He settled for pathetically busing ornaments from the box into Bossuet and Musichetta’s waiting hands while Souris purred in his lap, the little diva.

“Joly. Joly!” Joly blinked and looked up at Bossuet who was waving a pine branch under his nose.

“Earth to Joly!” Musichetta piped cheerfully, on her tiptoes and hidden from view on the other side of the tree, hanging the last ornament right at the top.

“We need the star now!” Bossuet gestured to the final glittering piece at the bottom of the box.

Joly gazed mournfully at it, then looked to the two empty tea mugs on the coffee table. “All I can do is hand it to you,” he sighed, “you don’t need me for that.”

Musichetta rolled her eyes and made her way to the couch, grabbing Joly’s arm. “Oh, get up then you whiny boy. We’ll let the poor sick baby put the star on the tree.” She shooed Souris off his lap, who long-sufferingly retreated to a pillow that had fallen on the floor, and Joly hauled himself from where he had been ensconced in the couch.

“I thought you were supposed to be le malade imaginaire, our resident hypochondriac,” Bossuet teased.

“More of a valetudinarian really. Besides I’m already sick, what’s more to worry about?” Joly snatched the star and shuffled to the tree. Then he stopped. “Um…guys?”

Bossuet and Musichetta paused in sync and turned. Joly held the star in both his hands stretched up as far as he could reach, about halfway up the tree.

It only took a second for the two (much taller individuals) to snort in unison.

“I’ll do it.” Bossuet suppressed a smile and reached for the star.

“Oooh no! This is my star and my hands will be the ones to adorn this tree with it if it’s the last thing I do!”

“Only if you have a growth spurt in the next few moments.” Musichetta snickered.

“Apologies for filling the ‘short Asian’ role,” Joly grumbled.

Bossuet crossed his arms and tapped his chin, staring at Joly. Joly noticed and shook his head. “Oh no, no. This can’t end well.”

“Oh come on, you’re the first in line for Bossuet’s crazy schemes.”

“I’m ill! I’m in no condition to be involved in schemes, Chetta!”

“That wasn’t your attitude five minutes ago!”

Bossuet grabbed Joly firmly by the shoulders. He stared directly (though at a considerable diagonal) into Joly’s eyes. “The question you have to ask yourself…is how badly do you want to put up that star?”

Joly pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes and muttered, “Schemes…”

~

Bahorel pounded his fist on the apartment door, rattling the frame. “Hey, triplets! Open up! We’re bringing the party to you!”

“We’re the party!” Grantaire chorused from his side before stumbling into Bahorel’s arm. Bahorel threw his arm around Grantaire and the two swayed a bit, beginning to hum the intro to a rousing rendition of “Rockin’ around the Christmas Tree.” A successful night of bar crawling had bled into the morning, leading the high in spirits (both types) pair to the doorstep of the only Amis they knew would be as high spirited as they. Not before, however, they had managed to pry a certain overworked college student from his law books.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire broke off to address the awkward form shadowing them, “Join in!”

“Let’s just get them to let us in.” Enjolras reached around the boisterous pair and rapped on the door again. “Joly! Bossuet! Chetta! Please!” he called a bit desperately.

“Come…in!” Bossuet’s muffled voice sounded from behind the door. Enjolras raised an eyebrow at the tone but Grantaire and Bahorel happily barreled into the apartment and around the corner.

The “party” company was just in time to witness the climax of the Christmas disaster. Joly wobbled from his perch on both Bossuet and Musichetta’s shoulders, brandishing his cane with the star stuck on top. The sight sent Bahorel and Grantaire into a joyous frenzy and they threw off their coats and ran shouting and grinning to support, literally, the cause. Enjolras trailed behind them, unable to suppress a giggle which he tried disguising as a cough.

“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” Joly cried, lunging forward, getting the star in the perfect position to be lowered gently onto the tree. Then he sneezed.

The precarious pyramid executed a dangerous wobble and began to tilt backward, Bossuet’s shriek reaching new octaves. Joly would have let out a cry to rival his boyfriend’s had he not been frozen with fear, teetering on too many shoulders, a significant fraction of which were still tipsy.

Enjolras jumped in at the last second to brace Joly’s shoulder next to Grantaire who had his hands planted on Joly’s back. Grantaire let out a whoop and turned the full force of his grin on Enjolras.

Enjolras stared and sputtered, caught off guard by the crinkles at the corner of Grantaire’s eyes and the curl of dark hair that was falling on his forehead and the flash of his teeth and his lips…

Grantaire’s eyes widened. “Enjolras,” he began but was cut off by Joly falling on top of him, sending all five of them to the floor.

“No, no, no!” Joly thumped his head against the floor. “I was this close!” he coughed sadly and then sneezed again.

“Joly!” Musichetta elbowed him in the ribs and pointed up. The star gleamed at the apex of the tree. Bossuet huffed out a triumphant laugh and Bahorel drunkenly threw up a fist.

No comment came from Enjolras or Grantaire, however. The lot turned to find Enjolras laying on top of Grantaire where he had fallen, both of their faces a little too close and a little too red. They didn’t break eye contact even when the room went quiet.

“For fuck’s sake, get it over with!” Bahorel shouted, plucking a chunk of mistletoe off the tree and flinging it at the reluctant couple. There was a pregnant pause then, to everyone’s surprise, it was Enjolras that grabbed Grantaire’s shirt and violently pressed their lips together. A rousing cheer swept the room underset by Bossuet and Joly’s groans. Bossuet dug a few bills out of his pocket and slid them across the floor to Musichetta. Joly muttered something about an ATM.

Grantaire broke away to exclaim, “You guys were betting on us?”

“Just when you’d finally get over yourselves and get together,” Musichetta said as she plucked the money from Bossuet’s hand.

“I can’t believe-” Grantaire grumbled but was silenced by Enjolras’s lips again which he happily accepted.

Bahorel popped up from the floor. “That’s twenty bucks Feuilly owes me,” he said cheerfully and began hauling the apartment’s occupants back to their feet, ignoring the “Et tu Bahorel” in the background. He left Enjolras and Grantaire prostrate on the hard wood and took up the hum of “Rockin’ around the Christmas Tree” back up.

“Dance with me!” he sang, grabbing Musichetta’s and Joly’s hands. “The tree is standing and looking glorious and the holiday season is well on its way!”

Musichetta’s laugh sounded like a bell and she grabbed Bossuet’s hand as well.

“No, please, you know bad things happen when I dance!” he protested, being drawn into the circle regardless. The four circled the tree, dancing out of sync to an off key rendition of “Santa Baby” even managing to catch Enjolras and Grantaire’s attention long enough to get them to peel away from each other.

“Wait, slow down!” Bossuet laughed as his feet tangled. “Oh god…” he stumbled from the circle, knocking into the pillow on the floor that Souris had been calmly napping on in the midst of the chaos. With that kick, however, she sprang awake with a startle yowl and bolted for the nearest hiding place which just so happened to be the glorious Christmas tree newly adorned and standing tall.

Unable to accommodate the added weight of a hurtling tabby cat, the poor tree plummeted to the floor. Bahorel valiantly tried to catch it by throwing himself under the toppling timber but ended up flat on his back with a faceful of pine needles. The look on Enjolras’s face was just short of horror and Grantaire looked nervously at the tree owners over Enjolras’s shoulder.

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta stood amongst scattered pine needle and ornaments, surveying the fallen tree with half its branches flattened into the floor (and Bahorel’s face). There was a beat of silence before Bossuet went red and buried his head in his sweater sleeves, muffling…laughter?

Musichetta heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Again?” she said, her eyes rolling heavenward.

Joly sneezed.


End file.
